


Too late to love you

by ellyelisey



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Desire, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, Sad, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26514352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellyelisey/pseuds/ellyelisey
Summary: It's been almost 2 months since the bridge. Since then, Eve has been biding her time waiting to hear word from Villanelle. They communicate in the only way how -- through a series of letter/gifts, until the day that Eve is forced to confront a reality that nearly undoes her.Check out my YouTube channel for more Villaneve: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxBbhGGlPygOlxuCgZJ3K9w
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Eve Polastri/You, Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/Original Female Character(s), Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/You
Comments: 45
Kudos: 151
Collections: Eve Polastri's Archive, Eve and Villanelle





	1. Once more to see you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song title inspiration of the week: Once more to see you by Mitski
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw

It had been 47 days since the bridge when she got word from Oksana.

It came in the form of yellow Chrysanthemums on the steps of her crummy Hackney apartment she was subletting from a young girl half her age who had moved in with her boyfriend.

She could not bring herself to sign a lease when her decision to stay in London depended so completely on whether a certain assassin would reappear in her life.

47 days. 47 days since her gaze had latched with Oksana’s from across the expanse of the bridge -- it may as well have been 2 feet for the force that those eyes had on her. Some things are so exquisite, yet so painful in their fleetingness. Like her hazel eyes cast across the span of a bridge that frosty London night.

There must have been three meters between them, but there was something about her gaze that defied distance. It was like this from the start.

Even refracted in the rearview lens of her volvo in Bletchem, the power of her gaze compelled her, causing her to screech on breaks on a barren road — unwittingly making her cast aside the safety of those around her, driven wildly by her desire to hold her gaze.

They were tethered by it. Grounded inextricably in the force of the sacred moments their eyes were locked together. 

Maybe it was her choosing to break from her gaze in the sun bleached ruins of Rome that enabled Villanelle to lift the gun to her back. 

But still, here, months later, it felt different. She sees in Villanelle’s hooded stare something akin to devotion. And not on the condition of reciprocity. This was pure, unconditional — a final relenting, after all these months of bloodshed. She’d noticed it when they were pressed together on the ballroom floor, too. It was only now that she could put a name to it. 

That was, until something shifted in her eyes. They had widened, as if to absorb the depth of the feeling that passed between them. Then, a decision was made.

The shift was so subtle, no one but Eve could have detected it. Oksana’s mouth parted slightly, the space between her eyes creased, as if coming to terms with her verdict. And she watched Oksana turn, and continue to walk away. 

Eve watched Her recede, her eyes tracing the sunshine warmth of her back flitting amongst the commuters and tourists — The flowers that now lay at her feet, the exact same hue. 

She felt the familiar ache unravel itself inside her. Her chest blazed, in the same way it had when she had received a similar set of white roses at the home she shared with her, now, ex-husband.

Only then it had been different — her reaction, while genuine, was twinged with spite, and the luster of danger.

Now, Her absence wasn’t thrilling because of the expectation of seeing her — Eve could not be sure she’d ever see her again.

The flowers that lay at her feet seemed almost a final goodbye, as if the assassin wanted to lend her one last glimpse of herself in the yellow of their petals.

The recognition of this was unbearable.

She turned her back on the bouquet, the last vestiges of the woman she'd dismantled her life for, and shut the door, very aware of the irony in the act. 

The next morning the flowers were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! After being enthralled by the talent here, I've decided to dabble with my own fic. It will be mainly a lot of Eve's perspective, but I promise, you will be ultimately be rewarded (and realize the need for this POV). 
> 
> I'll be writing each chapter based off of a different song every week. To kick things off, I'm serving you with some Mitski. :) 
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: Once more to see you by Mitski 
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw


	2. Re(visit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve hatches a plan to get in touch with Oksana again, ironically via the expert message inceptor herself, Carolyn Martins.
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: Re(visit) by Fee Lion
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw

Eve’s life without Her is tedium. She passes through the day as if checking off a series of compulsory movements, like getting out of bed, taking out the bin, feeding herself, at least when her stomach demands it. After the night on the bridge - which to her now feels like it could have been a year ago, and not just a few weeks - Eve had actually felt quite alive. The chances that Oksana’s would return to her seemed promising.

Knowing this made dealing with her absence...manageable. But as the days slugged by impatience turned to dismay. She replayed the assassin’s expression just before she turned away over and over and over in her head, until she came to the conclusion that she must have misconstrued the adoration on Oksana’s face for indifference. The latter conclusion made coping easier. 

But no. Eve, now, really knew her. The shift was palpable on the dance floor. Sitting across from her, Oksana’s chest was cracked open. Eve almost felt alarmed at first. Her barrier had never been fully lowered until that moment.

It wasn’t until they were pressed against each other amidst a sea of white-haired couples that Eve herself felt her own unraveling. It was only with her cheek pressed against Oksana’s shoulder, their hands softly linked together, that Eve was able to recognize her own rigid barrier as it fell apart before her.

Reflecting back on their final moments now, Eve felt admiration for the younger woman. It was only after coming to know Villanelle that Eve could appreciate Oksana. This she considered where she sat pretzel style in her most comfy pair of joggers on the unfinished wooden floor of her ‘living room’/bedroom.

She sighed and took another sip of the Red she’d cracked open earlier. Letting out a dry laugh she recalled that it wasn’t so long ago that she and Kenny shared a similar experience. The pain she felt recounting this would have been far worse for Eve cirqa 2 years ago — if these past years had granted her anything, it was a far more steely resolve. ‘What a time to be a cynical asshole,’ she thought to herself. 

‘Do you think about the past?’ Oksana had asked her.

‘It’s all I think about,’ she’d responded.

It seemed that there was no moving forward while waiting for her. 

The shrill call of the phone interrupted her depressing reveries. ‘Dear GOD’ she muttered to herself, embarrassed to be caught with her own pathetic musings. She pulled herself off of the shabby piqued floor and grabbed her cell off the kitchen counter. 

‘Eve, Good Evening,’ came the curt, unmistakable voice of Carolyn Martins.

Silence. 

‘Eve, I apologize but can we pencil in the dramatics for another occasion when my time isn’t so pressing.’ 

‘Carolyn.’

‘Ah, thank you Eve, I was concerned for a moment that I’d have to make an appearance at your newfound abode which would be rather an inconvenience as you’ve chosen to reside in Hackney is it?

Eve was about to fire back with a retort when Carolyn interjected —

‘Well, as I said, brevity is essential. I’ll have Hugh send you our meeting point. I know you’re currently unemployed, so I assume a quarter past noon works for you?’ 

Another beat. 

‘I take your silence for agreement. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Eve.’

When she heard the tone click off Eve stood with her phone still pressed to her ear, confused by her own actions. Why hadn’t she put up a fight? It dawned on her that Carolyn was one of her only connections left to Oksana — if there was anyone in her ‘network’ that could access an international assassin on the run it was the chameleon like Carolyn Martins. And, she could tell by the insistence in Carolyn’s voice that she needed something of Eve.

Alright, Eve thought to herself, I’ll play her game...but not without receiving something in return. If Carolyn could intercept messages, she could surely issue them, too. 

Eve scrambled around her apartment for pen and paper. Lucky enough for her the prior tenant was a student, and pens ran amuck under cabinets and desks. She pulled a large novel off the teetering bookshelf - _The Hours_ \- and teared off a residual page from the back. 

She hesitated considering who she should address the letter to — ‘Oksana’, ‘Villanelle’, ‘Asshole’, ‘My Love’? She skipped it altogether, SHE would recognize her writing immediately. 

_‘Well, I’m sure you’re satisfied. Look what you’ve brought me to; writing a damn letter because I can’t take not knowing where you are. I still don’t know how to talk to you, really. I just need you to know that I know who you are. I, still, think about you all the time. Not in the same way I meant in Paris...now I worry. I hate you for it. Just the thought of you even in the vicinity of danger makes me sick….I sometimes trick myself into believing I no longer want you. I think we both know that has never been the case. Smug asshole. I think I know why you turned. I want you to know that you can’t rid me of my monster by trying to let yours go. I want you. Every part of you. I see what you meant now. We are the same. Please V, I realize this is a tall order to ask of you, but try not to do anything...too reckless. Or at least, anything that might get in the way of me seeing you again.’_

_\-- E_

Eve skimmed her words briefly, cringing internally. She was never good with expressing emotion on paper. Before she doubted her decision she folded the slip of book paper into three, hunted down an envelope and tucked it inside. Carolyn had better not let her down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references one of my all time favorite novels AND films, 'The Hours'. If you haven't yet seen it, I highly recommend.
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: Re(visit) by Fee Lion
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw


	3. Coming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More yearning, more tragedy — the stuff that goes hand in hand with these two.  
> Be warned, this one gets a bit risqué, so stay away kids.
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: Coming Down by Dum Dum Girls
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw

Eve could tolerate most things. In fact, she liked to think she was darn good at it.

I mean, patience wasn’t her forte, but her toleration for things like assholes in the tube, bad service at the pub, the odd case of mansplaining — she’d learned to play the decent human charade toward all of it.

That was until she met...Her. Had it been two years ago, Eve didn’t think she’d have the audacity to ask this favor from someone of Carolyn Martin’s standing. Now, when she wanted something — and she wanted Oksana more than she herself could even fathom — damn right she’d take drastic measures to attain it.

Progress aside, her weakness for waiting was really getting to her this morning.

Well half-morning, she considered glancing at the clock that revealed the time to be a quarter past 3 AM.

She’d spent most of the night doing a familiar dance with herself; lying on the lumpy mattress, her hands tracing across her lower abdomen as she stared blankly at the ceiling. Oksana may have turned away from her, but the pull was still there. For all Eve knew, She could be thousands of miles away and it’d still be there. Always there. Only now Eve no longer made the conscious choice to push it down.

So now she dealt with this repressed desire in the only way she could right now (that didn’t involve fucking up another person’s life in the process).

The nights that followed their last meeting was dalliance with herself — her hands moving from her stomach, skirting to the outline of her trousers, and further still. She really couldn’t satisfy the ache.

It was always dull, but very much there. Especially on nights like these when She felt categorically closer, by proxy of the letter.

Eve sighed and leaned in, seeking out relief from the tips of her fingers, inhaling sharply when she felt how ready she was.

Since She left, Eve couldn’t remember the last time she was so turned on. Looking back, it was likely the night after She had left her the...voice recording cirqua plush bear; or the night after she heard her voice again over the phone in Liverpool Street Station, the throaty texture of her voice that was made all the more stirring without the expectation of hearing it.

Maybe, tonight, it was the expectation that did it for her, her body arching off the bed, her mouth splayed open.

She lay there for minutes after, then plucked a cigarette off the nightstand — another nasty habit she’d given up on letting go. Lying there, she felt a wave of shame pass over her. Maybe not ‘shame’ she reconsidered... guilt? It was as if she was leaving Her out of the experience.

Like she had a choice at the moment.

She said her name softly, into the ceiling.

It echoed in the half furnished apartment. ‘What have you done to me...you asshole,’ she muttered.

\--

Of course the cafe Carolyn chose is chic as shit. Count on C. Martins to have impeccable taste, Eve thought internally rolling her eyes.

The cafe was in Shoreditch, but off the main roads and sat between a narrow alley and a flashy clothing store that made its location almost missable.

Eve missed it entirely at first, walking quickly as she fumbled through her oversized bag. She had to thrift a new bag after she’d fatefully left her beloved sack behind the night of the bridge. She went back the next morning on the slim chance of finding it, but no luck. This one was thrifted from a shop in Hackney -- it was no contender for the old one, but it did the job.

She laughed to herself thinking of the side eye She would be giving her right now for toting it, as well as the rest of her ensemble. She had thrown on a pair cotton joggers, wrinkled blouse (the only one she had to be fair), oversized green slicker — the look made slightly more polished by a decent pair of black slides.

She ducked into the cafe, and scanned the handful of people there. Carolyn would be unmistakable. That’s why she was caught off guard when she didn’t immediately see her.

‘Ah, you must be Effie,’ came an Northern-accented voice behind her. She turned to find a young lanky boy behind the counter said, greeting her with an ear-to-ear wolfish grin.

‘Um...no. You have the wrong person, I’m --’

He cut her off before she could respond.

‘Nope, don’t think I do — right through here!’

The boy hopped over the counter and turned around the passageway that Eve presumed must lead to the loo. Instead, what she found was a smaller, dining area similar to the one in the main entry.

‘We serve lunch back here but you ladies are early so you’re lucky enough to have this place to yourself,’ he said over his shoulder.

Carolyn sat in the furthest booth, her back facing the entryway. She must have heard their approach, but made no movement to turn until they were standing in front of the booth.

She gave a curt smile to the boy, her eyes creasing at the corners. ‘Thank you, Benjamin.’

The boy gave another wide faced grin, turned beat red, did an awkward half bow before wandering back out the entryway.

Eve didn’t bother with a greeting.

‘Oh, we’re not ordering?’

‘Eve, delightful to see you.’

She said nothing in response, seating herself across Carolyn and folding her arms in her favorite ornery stance -- her very best I-don’t-give-a-fuck-unless-it-concerns-Oksana look.

Carolyn's polite smile remained effortlessly plastered in place but her eyes creased slightly.

‘I gave Benjamin our order before you arrived -- Gin and Tonic is a favorite of yours as I recall? Benjamin really does make the best concoctions in London.’

‘Carolyn, is there a reason you brought me here today? Because if it’s about working for you again, I’m sorry but I really cannot get involved. I think you already know this though, which is why I’m surprised you invited me here today. Well, there is one reason why I decided to come,’ she said pulling out the letter she’d stuffed into her bag this morning and sliding it across the table.

‘Eve, why don’t you remove your coat?’

‘Carolyn, trust me, I know you of all people aren’t one to indebt yourself with the woes of others, but I’m asking you for one single favor. I need you to get this letter to...um...Villanelle,’ she said lowering her voice.

Carolyn paused for a long moment, and her mouth softened. A look flashed over her face momentarily -- was it sympathy? Guilt? It was over a half second and her perfectly composed demeanor was back the next.

‘Yes...Eve. For once, you happen to be quite on the mark here. There is a reason that I invited that I invited you here today that does not involve another work endeavor. I’ve actually grown to respect you over these years...despite your current state... and I can’t imagine us maintaining that sort of work relationship, to be quite frank.’

Eve audibly sighed. ‘So, you’d be willing to get this letter to her?’

‘I’m afraid...That would be quite impossible, Eve.’

‘Really? Really, Carolyn?! Fine, I won’t bother arguing with you then. I know you well enough to know it would be pointless,’ she said, gathering her things together to make her way to the door.

‘Eve I advise you to sit down.’

Something in the intonation of her voice actually caused Eve to stop in her tracks. She sat back and looked at Carolyn expectantly. She hesitated before she responded. The somber look passed over her face again — noticeable only in her eyes.

‘Oksana Astankova was professionally assassinated six days ago in Berlin.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we feeling about the Emmy's guys?? Not going to lie, I think that Emmy was STOLEN from Sandra.
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: Coming Down by Dum Dum Girls
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw


	4. Fear the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve is presented with crime scene photos and chaos ensues.
> 
> This one is pretty bleak guys but I promise next chapter will be more...hopeful. ;)
> 
> Chapter title inspiration of the week: Fear the Water my love by SYML
> 
> Link to my Spotify for my Villaneve inspiration: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=dy9NGXJyQQ2XV9HjZ-CDSg

Eve liked to think she had a good read on Carolyn Martins after three years of bullshit. She’d been manipulated enough to know when it was happening.

That’s why she knew she should take her most recent words for what time they’d proven time and time again to be:bullshit.

But something in Carolyn’s expression threw Eve off. ‘Eve….I know this must be rather disturbing news. I know you’ve formed...an attachment to her.’

Eve stared at her blankly, not giving her the satisfaction of thinking that her latest ploy was working.

‘Mmm I presumed you might be skeptical,’ she said, her hand swiftly pulling a manila envelope from her leather satchel and sliding it across the table. Eve didn’t so much as give it more than a glance, staring Carolyn down deadpan. Sighing, Carolyn pulled a deck of photos from the envelope. The staring contest ensued.

Eve finally broke and glanced down. What she saw took her breath away. There She was, her body splayed awkwardly on what looked like a concrete lot, an industrial building in the near distance framing the photo.

‘These are the police photos taken at the crime scene. It appears she was stabbed in the chest.’

Eve was only half-listening. She couldn’t pull her eyes from Her stomach, where the scar brought on by her own impulsive doings was unmistakable. A creeping numbness took hold of her.

Carolyn continued, ‘I’m actually surprised whoever the Twelve commissioned got the best of her — it seems the work of a novice. A bit insulting, if you ask me.’

Eve said nothing. Her body felt heavy — her tongue seemed too large in her mouth, as if it didn’t belong to her.

‘Eve...had I known this was their plan, I would have interceded. She was too much of a liability. Her...most recent employer, well, she had little patience for outliers. And Oksana was undoubtedly an outlier.’

At the sound of her name something twisted sharply in her stomach — she felt the blood rush to her head. Carolyn’s concerned voice interrupted, ‘Eve, what on earth are you doing.’

That snapped her from her daze momentarily — she glanced down and noticed that she was clutching the dining knife that had been laid out on the table. She’d grasped it so hard that it had broken skin. Blood tinted the white tablecloth red. She glanced down at the photo again, analyzing the features of Her face once more. There was no mistaking Oksana -- she could recall every specific detail of it without trouble. Only, lying in this splayed position her neck arched softly backward and hanging limply to the side, the soft baby-fat on her face made her seem younger. As if she was an innocent victim of a hate crime, not a professional assassin with a track record for nefarious crimes.

She wanted to scream, but her swollen tongue wouldn’t allow it. She wanted to cry, but her numbed body wouldn’t produce tears.

Konstantin's rough voice broke through her thoughts, ‘Hello Eve.’ Carolyn slid her cell phone across the table, where the caller id showed his name, on speaker phone.

‘I cannot stay on this line for long, so you need to listen. There was nothing I could do for Oksana. I tried to warn her, to get her to come with me...but you know how she is,’ his throaty chortle broke through once, tinged with regret. ‘She was planning to stay in London to be with you Eve. She was just sorting out some details...She thought she could do it but she didn’t know that THEY were already planning ahead of her..always two steps ahead…’

His words became empty as Eve sat there, staring at Oksana’s face. Her arm splayed out near it, slightly opened, her index finger giving the suggestion of pointing. She sprung from the table and ran to the nearest bin, which happened to be an umbrella rack near the hall.

There, she unloaded the contents of her stomach until she was dry heaving.

She felt a hand on her back, ‘Are you okay Miss,’ she supposed it was the boy server.

She shoved his hand away and ran for the exit running back to the table first to grab her beastly oversized bag. Carolyn sat there, impassive, her hands folded on the table near the photos, eyes cast downward.

Eve fled the restaurant, and flung herself onto the city street. She ran. She didn’t stop until she realized she was approaching London Bridge. The same bridge where she and Oksana last met.

Had she known this would be their last encounter, she would have kissed her. She would have demanded she turn back around and face her. She would have locked her in place with her arms, pressed her body against the railings — a fitting switch in their roles, for a change.

She would have uttered the words she was always terrified out of her mind to tell her — not because they weren’t true, but because, deep down, she knew it would change everything. - an admission that they were the same. ‘You were right V’ she breathed into the darkening sky as it drowned itself into the Thames. ‘We are the same.’ She let the night take her, collapsing on the spot.

She had lost everything, just to be around this woman. Being near her demanded it. She knew grief well — with Bill it was unmistakable, with Kenny, it was acute.

This was not just grief, she realized. Oksana was a part of herself — a self she had only begun to take ownership of. Losing Oksana meant losing herself. It was a similar feeling to not having eaten in days, when the hunger is no longer just acute, but all encompassing. She was unbridled; she felt like long unchecked boiling water having parched the pot.

Her back pressed to the cold steel of the barricade. She sunk her head between her legs; she could have been there for minutes, hours, suddenly time lost meaning, she felt disattached from the body that held her there on the bridge.

Amidst the fog of her mind, one intention was clear -- she was going to Berlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a bit late to the update game guys! Looking forward, Berlin is my favorite city so I'm stoked to take their story there.
> 
> Chapter title inspiration of the week: Fear the water by SYML
> 
> Link to my Spotify for my Villaneve inspiration: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=dy9NGXJyQQ2XV9HjZ-CDSg


	5. Party Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve goes clubbing in Berlin and encounters someone familiar.
> 
> Chapter title inspiration of the week: 'Party Girl' by Michelle Gurevich:
> 
> ‘What's your name?  
> What's your art?  
> Nobody knows  
> About my broken heart.’
> 
> Link to my Spotify for my Villaneve inspiration: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=dy9NGXJyQQ2XV9HjZ-CDSg

‘Oy Miss are you alright?!’

She woke abruptly to find a paper boy on a bike peering down at her. The hazy fog of twilight was settling over the city, the sun having just sank beyond the waterline of the Thames.

‘Erm, yeah I’m fine thanks.’

The teenager gave her a confused look, and opened his mouth as if to say something before thinning the better and biking off.

She glanced at her phone, which was miraculously still charged: 6:05 PM. She's slept through the day.

For a comforting few seconds she’d forgotten the events of this morning, but it wasn’t long before it all came flooding back. She felt her stomach clench again; her head swam. She jumped to her feet and walked briskly in the general direction of her flat.

She walked for hours, in a haze, her mind blocking out the news from this morning. Denial was a very affecting coping mechanism.

Finally returning to her flat, she found a package lying at her doorstep. She tore it open, not even bothering to open the door. Inside lay her old, reliable shoulder bag. There was no address on the package. She peered inside and found nothing. Whoever returned it to her could have at least included her damn wallet, she thought ruefully.

She swung open her front door, threw both bags, old and new, inside and immediately headed to her room to begin packing. She threw three pairs of black skinny jeans, some underwear, a lacy black bra, and as many dark clothes in her carry on bag, then zipped over to her laptop to find the next flight.

Count on RyanAir to have a direct flight from London to Berlin for under 70 pounds, leaving in just 2 hours. She booked it and made her way towards the door. Opening the door, something caught her eye.

Her old bag sat haphazardly in the entryway. She quickly emptied the contents of her new bag into her reliable old one, swung it over her shoulder and was on her way.

She found it was easy not to think of Her when she was moving her body. Sitting in her uber, and then clustered between two people on an economy flight, her new reality washed over her.

She got up as many times as possible on the flight to ‘go to the bathroom’, much to the annoyance of her fellow passengers and flight attendants who eyed her warily. If she looked as lost as she felt, it wasn’t hard to imagine why they looked at her that way.

Luckily, her mind seemed to naturally repress most of what she now knew. But vestiges of Her would creep into her mind at the most inconvenient moments.

Her full bottom lip, rose colored in the light. Her dancing cat-like gaze. The flyaway hairs that framed the immaculate plait down her back.

Each memory was a kick to her stomach.

Any time the thoughts intruded she’d get up and pace; she knew she was the passenger from hell.

Haggard looking and sleep deprived, she arrived at the departure gate only then realizing she had nowhere to go. She decided to take the metro to Kreuzburg. She’d gotten to know the city a bit the last time she was here — under very different circumstances — and she knew enough now to know that was the ‘cool’ area of the city. How things had changed.

She exited at U Prinzenstraße, and laughed hoarsely as she ascended the stairs realizing she had no ideas why she was. Chasing a ghost, she thought coldly. The anguish washed over her again — she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before walking more briskly — all she knew of this world without Her was that movement was a distracter. 

All she had to do was outrun herself.

Before long she saw a sign for ‘Metropol Hostel Berlin’.

Welp, I guess I’ll be reliving my 20s again, she thought dryly hauling her small carry on through the front door. A chipper girl half her age with raven black hair and a lip piercing greeted her at the front desk.

‘Hi there!’ she said in an Irish accent.

‘Hi!’ she feigned her nicest smile. ‘Just a room for one please.’

‘Oh soo sorry love but we only have dorms available!’

Oh god. She really was in her 20s again. She thought about seeking out another hotel, but then felt her fatigue down to her bones, and decided to deal with it.

‘Sure,’ she said sighing.

The girl grabbed a key from the back and rattled off a list of hostel rules, as if she really were a Gen Z: No sex in the dorms, please keep quiet if you’re returning past midnight, no sex in the showers, no drugs or alcohol, and no smoking in the dorm.

The only rule Eve thought she might struggle with was ‘no smoking’.

The girl then led her to a four-bedroom all girls dorm. She was surprised to find it empty, although remnants of the other guests were scattered about the room -- half opened makeup bags, bras fly this way and that.

‘Here you are babes,’ the girl said with another overzealous grin. ‘Let me know if you need anything at all!’

Then, Eve was alone again. She lay down on her bed — the bottom bunk — and stared at the black metal above her, willing sleep to take this day away.

But behind closed eyes, the image of Oksana’s contorted body splayed on the concrete appeared before her. She gasped for air, sitting upright in bed and smashing her head into the metal bunk above her.

‘FUCK.’

She rifled through her bag for a cigarette. After taking a drag, and letting the nicotine settle her wired nerves, she considered her options. Sit here and be tormented at any moment by her thoughts, or go out into the night and find a way to forget. It didn’t take her long to choose the latter option. She dug through her bag for a change of clothes.

Ugh. She realized that in her frantic state when she was packing, she’d just thrown whatever lingerie she could find into her bag — which just so happened to be ultra sheer and lacey black. Eh, might as well commit to the whole early twenties look, she thought out loud slipping out of her well-worn clothes and lingerie into the new set. Finally she tugged back on her tight black jeans, and black Uniqlo turtleneck.

She eyed her unattractive, but well loved trainers. Just a foot away lay a pair of vintage looking black Dr. Martens. ‘Fuck it’, she muttered, before slipping them on.

They fit perfectly. She’d return them to the girl later and blame it on a ‘drunken’ mistake. Walking out the door of the hostel entrance, she pulled the elastic from her hair and it burst free in tousles around her face. The receptionist cast her a bemused expression and shouted ‘have fun!’ as she left the hostel.

She walked over a small bridge that connected the neighborhoods, bustling with 20 to 30-somethings. Eve liked to think for a woman in her mid-40s, she’d aged well — thank god for that Asian gene, she thought to herself.

Turning the next corner, the gleaming lights of ‘Kit-Kat Klub’ lurched above her.

She joined a line of young people donning long black coats. She realized how cold out it was. The crisp evening air of early spring cut through her thin sweater. 

Standing in line, her thoughts wandered again. The fresh image of Oksana's startled face after their lips parted on the bus, her hazel eyes in an uncharacteristic daze.

Another stab to her gut. She fumbled around for a cigarette. 

A man who must have been in his 30s, wearing a leopard print long coat and the biggest oversized platform boots Eve had ever seen turned and gave her a once over.

‘Es wird innen warm sein,’ he said winking at her.

‘Oh sorry I don’t speak German,’ she said numbly.

‘American?’ he asked smirking. ‘Gilles, we have an American with us tonight!’

A petite blonde man with a fairy cut, most likely in his late 20s, turned and appraised Eve.

‘How very FAB!’ he said flamboyantly; Eve thought she detected a hint of French. 

‘This is my partner, Gilles’ the taller man said. ‘I meant to tell you that you may be cold now, but you’ll warm up in there…’ he said winking.

‘Oh great,’ she responded - a half-assed attempt at enthusiasm.

‘Honey, what has you all tensed up,’ Gilles asked with mock sympathy.

‘Nothing this cigarette can’t fix,’ she responded.

Gilles laughed at that, a high-pitched twinkling sound.

‘I’m Peter,’ the taller man said, stretching his hand out to introduce himself. Sorry to bother you — you obviously are having a rough night — we just don’t get many people quite like YOU here.’

‘Americans don’t like to party in Berlin?’

‘HAHA nooo sweetheart,’ Gilles said. ‘Unfortunately for us we have plenty of rowdy Americans but they tend to be a bit more...ummm juvenile.’

‘Well, age has never stopped me from having a good time,’ Eve said, casting them a forced coy look.

‘Ohh I like this one, Peter!’ remarked Gilles. 'She's feisty.'

Peter grinned ear to ear. ‘Honestly it’s not your age that caught my attention darling — you don’t look past 38, maybe? — it’s your LOOK. You fit right into the melancholic German angst love. That’s why I spoke to you in German, HA! Maybe you should consider a move to Berlin, hmm?’ Peter suggested.

‘Well, there’s literally nowhere I need to be, so I might just do that,’ Eve said dryly.

Gilles peered at Eve, a smile forming on his mouth. ‘You will certainly enjoy Kit-Kat, I think, Eve. It’s just the kind of nowhere you need to be.’

Eve noticed that they had arrived at the entrance. The bouncer appraised all three of them before nodding them inside. Stepping into the coat check area, Eve’s mouth dropped open.

The two women behind the coat check inside were ass-naked other than donning leather knickers that just covered their modesty, heavy set boots, and duck tape that barely covered their nipples.

Peter and Gilles, who entered behind her, had removed their jackets to reveal the ensemble beneath — nipple clamps, leopard skin tight booty-shorts.

‘Willkommen to Kit-Kat club Amerikanische!’ Peter said laughing raucously.

Well, Eve went out looking to lose herself; she certainly got what she asked for.

‘You two could have given me a heads up, eh?’ she said giving her two line-mates a look.

Hearing her accent, the coat check girl turned to her and said, ‘First time in Kit-Kat, yes?’

‘Um, yes,’ she said turning red. She needed a drink.

‘Clothes off please.’

Oh god.

Letting out a deep breathe, she hesitated briefly before slipping out of her turtleneck and black jeans, grateful she had unintentionally packed a set of lingerie that actually fit the occasion. The coat check girl snatched her clothes from her and thrust a ticket into her hand.

‘Don’t lose that,’ she said sternly. ‘Or you’ll be walking into the night ass-naked when you leave.’

Turning red at the thought, she snugly tucked the ticket into her ‘borrowed’ docs.

Peter and Gilles, who had politely waited for her to don her birthday suit look, now held open a heavy red curtain. She stepped into a nearly pitch black room radiating with sweat, sex, and absolute hedonistic glory. The base from the speaker vibrated through her core. Gilles grabbed her sweat slicked hand and led her, winding through naked body after body. Eve took note of how the uniformity of the crowds nakedness voided out the sexuality of it. Together, they were all one twisted sea of bodies, seeking out something unattainable in the light outside. She needed a drink. She motioned to the bar to Peter. He winked at her and beelined with Gilles toward the bar, tossing ‘Stay there Amerikanische! We will find you!’ over his shoulder. Well fuck.

She noticed a raised platform to the side of the dance hall where a woman with a shaved head lay on display, actively playing with herself.

Eve needed that drink. She was not a prude, but this place was next level. She spun through the convoluted mass of writhing bodies until she found a small stairwell. She took it hoping it might lead to some fresh air. Instead she walked into an orgy — two men, three women by the looks of it. And Eve didn’t look for long. She swiftly turned back around and resolved to tough it out in the crowd of sweaty dancers.

The beat of the music rippled through her — she remembered this time, three years ago, winding through a similar scene, but instead of a tangle of nude bodies, it was a sea of 20-somethings dressed in black. And among them, lay Bill’s body, his chest soaked red.

How long had that image tormented her? Now, while it caused a dull ache of grief within her, it was nothing to the lurching panic and then feeling of hollowness she felt when she pictured Her body, contorted in a similarly immobile way.

She pushed through the crowd, sweat dripping from her forehead, but not from the heat of the masses around her.

Then, about two meters to her right, she noticed the back of a woman, retreating through the crowd. Long, blonde honey hair. Exactly the same hue as...Hers.

The dance floor disappeared. Eve’s eyes trained on the figure. Her frame and stature, and the wideness of her shoulders were the same.

Suddenly she was on the move, pushing her way through the crowd. Eve took off after her, but a tall body stepped in her path.

Peter. ‘MOVE’ she ordered, frantically trying to peer past him.

‘Honey, what has you in such a state?’

She tried to push past him but there were too many people at all sides.

Finally sensing her urgency Peter stepped to the side, allowing her to see through the crowd again.

She was gone.

Her eyes hungrily surveyed the club, but she could no longer see the figure.

Sighing, she snatched the drink Peter held in his other hand and chased it down, without asking what it was. The sharp bite of the vodka scorched through her chest.

‘Sorry Peter, I thought I saw...someone,’ she said pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes.

‘I really think I’m really losing my mind.’

Peter regarded her carefully for a moment. Then he wound her arm under his and lead them deeper info the crowd, toward Gilles.

‘Well, my dear,’ he responded, ‘this is the ideal place to lose it.’

It wasn’t hard to believe him.

\--

Eve had no idea what time it was, yet alone what was up or down. She’d given herself fully to the dancefloor, eyes clothes, writhing with the masses, the steady, monotone baseline the only sure thing in this place.

She’d lost track of how many drinks she’d had, but unlike many of the younger things here, she knew her limits. Gille’s hand appeared in front of her, donning a small circular blue pill.

‘What is this?’

‘Just a little bit of ecstasy love.’

The Eve from two years ago would have rejected it; even if she may have wanted to. These days she gave very little fucks. She popped it into her mouth, licking it straight from Gille’s palm. He gave her a wink and continued dancing.

She did the same, winding her body around them, around strangers, circling in on herself, and effecting spiraling until she had no memory of life outside of this club, this now.  
  
Across the floor of the dance floor, Eve noticed a petite women with long blonde hair dancing with three other woman. Ah, that explains it, Eve thought to herself.

Although...her frame seemed too slight compared to the form she saw earlier.

Suddenly the woman glanced in her direction. Their eyes connected. She was pretty. She danced her way through the crowd and traced her arm along Eve's.

'Hey beauty,' the woman leaning in to whisper in her ear. 'I'm Romee'. She had a distinctive accent — Eve thought it might be Dutch. 

'Eve,' she said smiling. The woman appraised her, then her thin lips curled into a smile. Her eyes were deep brown.

Eve was still unsure about how she felt about being with other women. It had always been men until she met...Her. She had awoken something inside Eve that even she didn’t know had been hiding dormant for years. And, now that she had officially lost everything, she thought, the acidic twang of emptiness rising up again, she had nothing to lose by exploring it. 

'Eve, I'm going to dash to the bar and grab us another drink — I think I know exactly what you'll like,’ Romee said, interrupting her thoughts. 

Eve, not wanting to disappoint her but refusing the drink, just smiled and accepted the offer. Romee winked at her and wandered towards the bar. 

She continued dancing, moving her hips in a way she hadn't in years — probably since she was the age of most of people here.

At first she thought she was imagining the feel of smooth fingers circle around her waist.

A long strand of blonde hair fell slightly over her shoulder. Assuming it was Romee, she didn't turn; instead she just pressed herself into the woman's frame, which she found to be incredibly supple. 

The girl was much more well built than she appeared. 

'Those drinks didn't take long,' Eve tossed the words over her shoulder, her breath husky. She felt the whisper of hot breath on the back of her neck, and then the soft press of full lips grazed the base of her neck.

Eve felt herself sinking, a low pull deep inside her navel.

And just as she was about to turn, the hands removed themselves and she felt the body pull away. She turned and briefly saw a flicker of blond hair moving away through the crowd.

Confused, Eve turned back to Gilles and Peter and threw herself back into dancing. A few minutes later Romee appeared, drinks in hand. 

'That was nice,' Eve said, feeling emboldened. 'You should have continued — I didn't need the drink.'

Romee fixed her with a slightly confused expression before kissing her cheek and responding, 'Yeah, sorry the line took forever!' 

After downing their drinks she let herself be led off the dance floor towards a small enclave near the stairwell. The woman tried to make small talk. She seemed slightly nervous.

Missing the sureness of her long fingers around her waist from earlier, Eve tried to show her how much she enjoyed it — she spun the woman around and pressed her against the wall, finding her lips. Romee gave a surprised gasp, then went with it, molding her lips into her own.

Eve pressed her hips into the other woman’s, eliciting a light breathy moan. She felt the woman’s thin fingers trace the outline of her underwear, cupping her mound. It was distracting, but it wasn’t...enough. 

Even looking out from under the muddy waters of her half drugged state of mind, she realized it would never be enough.

Oksana's face appeared in her mind, half stained with blood that was not hers, tendrils of hair escaping from her bun as she uttered, 'You love me.’ Eve now knew it to be a desperate request for validation, not an assertion. 

She choked back a sob into the other woman’s mouth. Startled, Romee stepped out from the wall where Eve had pinned her. She felt her place a hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh...Are you okay?’

‘Just go.’ Eve muttered under her breath. The younger woman didn’t need to be told twice. Her eyes widened, like a deer in headlights and she skittered back amongst the crowd of dancers. She needed to get out of here.

But where was the way out? She wandered up a small platform, turned a corner and came across a swimming pool, shining turquoise green from the harsh spotlights above.

A rope swing hung helplessly in the center of the pool, as if daring anyone to enter to reach it. She wandered back down to the dance hall, pushed her way through the crowd, past Gille and Peter who were fully sucking face at that point and chased the cool breeze of the outside she thought she could around the corner from the bar.

The cold night air felt sweet in her mouth. She inhaled greedily.

‘Evvvve I believe you’re forgetting something!’ She heard the trill of Gilles’s voice approaching behind her. She turned to find Gilles and Peter smirking at her, shrugging on their overcoats. Only then did she notice she was standing in the middle of the city street wearing nothing but her black decollage.

‘Oh my GOD,’ she suddenly found herself laughing hysterically, squatting in the middle of the sidewalk with her arms around herself. She couldn't stop laughing. Gilles and Peter laughed too, until they realized that Eve was out of control. Then they eyes her warily. ‘Yo Amerikanische, let us get your coat for you before you freeze your nice little tits off huh?’

She was still beside herself, choking on her own laughter. Finally she managed to slip her heisted docs off to grab the slip, tossing it in their direction. Then she lay there on the sidewalk, trying to gather her breath, vaguely aware of the scene she must be creating for the Berliners and tourists alike.

Gilles and Peter shortly appeared again, this time with her jeans and turtleneck. She tugged them on leisurely, not caring about the curious glances cast in her direction. ‘Let’s get you home, Verrückte,’ Peter said kissing her cheek once she was upright.

\--

Thank god she met these two, Eve thought to herself and Gilles and Peter, two Berlin locals, led her to her hostel door. 

'You guys are just the best,' Eve said, still out of it and still rolling. 'I don't know anyone here, so let me give you my number. We can grab food sometime, maybe.' 

'It's a date Amerikanische,' Gilles said pecking Eve directly on the lips. Peter followed the gesture, and winked at her as they wandered off into the night. 

Eve made her way back to her dorm room where her other three bunkmates were sleeping. Eve remembered she was wearing the swiped Doc Martins, and quickly slipped them off, placing them where she found them near the sleeping red head of hair. She glanced at the time on her phone: 4:18 AM. She groaned internally and made her way to the shared loo adjacent to the room. She stripped off her clothes (this time in a decent setting), throwing them haphazardly near her bed. She caught herself offgaurd walking into the loo where florescent lights exposed her bloodshot eyes and wild hair. She noticed light bruises trailing her arms and legs -- most likely from the couple of times she tripped in the club.

She turned in the mirror, assessing the damage. Her breath caught. On top of her shoulder, where it met her neck, a deep rouge lipstick mark was stamped on her skin. Hmm she thought to herself, that Dutch girl has expensive taste in makeup for it to have lasted their for the majority the night.

The crimson lips almost appeared artful, the embellishment complimenting her olive toned skin. She let her hair fall back into place and made her way to her bunk, careful not to walk the sleeping girls. She closed her eyes — images of the Dutch girls face flitted through her mind. She felt like she was forgetting something; why else would she recall this sweet but otherwise forgettable young girl.

Then she remembered. Romee was not wearing red lipstick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, this chapter was largely inspired by my own experience at Kit-Kat when I was 23 and only then realizing I was bisexual after meeting the first woman I ever loved (who happens to be a Berliner). Anyway, a story for another time... 
> 
> Do we have any other German readers here? Hit me up if you're familiar with Kit-Kat! 
> 
> **This chapter was inspired 'Party Girl' by Michelle Gurevich was a close second) If you don't know Gurevich give her a listen - LOVE this artist, and her music has such Villaneve vibes.


	6. Rabbit in Your Headlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve meets up with Gilles and Peters and they recount the details of the prior night. Eve gets a wake-up call. 
> 
> Chapter song inspiration of the week: Rabbit in Your Headlights by UNKLE 
> 
> Check out my Spotify to hear all the songs I get Villaneve inspiration from:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=M9BNBBiWRTeuBp2Sx2_AUQ

Eve woke to a loud crash that sounded like something falling. 

‘OMG I’m sorry sorry!’ came an American voice somewhere above her head. Then she remembered she was a woman in her mid-40s in a hostel filled with 20 somethings, most likely on their study abroad year. 

A hot pink hard shell carry-on lay splayed open to her side, clearly from where it had fallen from the top-bunk. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Eve shouted to the faceless girl. 

Not wanting to do the small talk thing with the gaggle of travelers, Eve turned to her side and pretended to sleep. 

‘Wait, Gina, I found my Doc Martens! That’s sooo weird I could have sworn I put them right next to the bed…’

A stiff pause. Eve feigned her best deep sleep look, letting out a soft snore. 

Once they’d left, she rolled herself out of bed, cracked open the small window and lit a cigarette. 

The sky outside was laden in grey, the clouds low in the sky. Trying to pull memories from the fog of last night, Eve could only recall sweat, lots of skin, and the acidic bite of vodka. And, of course, the ambiguous red stain on her own skin. In her sober state, she could not muster the same panic she felt last night upon seeing the mark. And, she definitely couldn’t say for sure that that Dutch girl wasn’t wearing red lipstick...although wouldn’t such a vibrant color hold a place in her memory? 

She grabbed her phone. A single new text from an unknown number read:  
  
_Darlinggg! Gilles and I will be at Cafe Moment at noon tomorrow if caffeine is your hangover cure. Let’s discuss last night’s debacles._

She stretched, assessing if she had the energy to rehash the ‘debacles’. While she was recalling them from a drug induced lens, she thought she actually really liked Gilles and Peter. And even if she didn’t in the morning light, it was a better alternative to thinking of Her. 

She started typing. 

_I’m heading over! Grab me a croissant. God do I need one._

Gilles and Peter sat in the middle of an inconveniently crowded cafe brimming an eclectic crowd of students, families with small children, and stoned teenagers. It was hard to miss Gilles. He wore a scarlet oversized blazer with a fuschia scarf tied snugly around his neck. Peter’s style was slightly more relaxed in a crisp black linen button down and slouchy joggers.

She pulled up a seat to the round table, already set with an assortment of fresh looking pastries. What she’d do for a hot espresso...

‘One of those better be for me,’ she said, raising her eyebrows deviously. 

‘Of course dear, we’re not assholes,’ he laughed, sliding a face sized croissant in her direction. 

‘Soo how was the rest of your night with the youths?’ Gilles said eyes dancing. 

‘Well, let’s just say I’ve never felt happier to be in my 40s.’ 

Gilles and Peters laughed in perfect unison; it was almost off putting . 

The three fell into conversation easily. Eve felt it was cathartic just to talk about normal things for once in what felt like years. She discovered they were both graphic designs and had met at the same agency over 10 years ago. 

After a lull in the conversation Peter asked, ‘So Eve, you never told us if you’re seeing anyone at the moment.’ 

She paused at that question, then burst into laughter. Peter and Gilles smiled but eyed her warily. 

‘It would take me hours to answer that question,’ she said, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘But, long story short, I was married for 12 years but things have...recently ended. He was a good guy -- I...well I fucked things up royally.’ 

‘Oh sorry honey,’ Gilles said, taking her hand. He seemed genuine. 

‘No, it’s fine really. I’m surprisingly okay with it...I mean, not with _how_ things ended. But I don’t regret ever ending it….I would have never met—’ she trailed off mid-sentence as Oksana’s face flashed across her mind. This time it was the determined curve of her eyes, as she pressed forward across a similar coffee table, arms folded in a pinstripe suit. ' _He's too nice. He's too normal for you, you know that_.'

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then downed the rest of her espresso and began tapping her fingers rhythmically against the wooden table. 

Peter and Gilles exchanged looks, obviously sensing her distress. 

‘Eve...are you okay?’ 

‘Fine,’ she snapped, catching herself off guard. ‘Sorry, let’s just talk about something else. I don’t really like discussing... _Him_.’ 

‘To be honest babe, I think we’re just both surprised there’s a _him_ in the picture. I mean, after the way you were grinding up against those two women last night left very little doubt about your preference in the sheets,’ Gilles said grinning. 

Eve laughed, glad for the diversion in the conversation, even if that meant recounting the atrocities on the dancefloor. 

Then she realized Gilles had said ‘two women’. As far as she remembered, there’d just been that Dutch girl, whose name Eve felt was not able to recall. Ugh, she was such a dick. 

‘Erm, wait you mean the one blonde girl right?’ 

Gilles' eyes widened with amusement. Peter smirked and looked down. 

‘Babe,’ Gilles said, ‘you’re getting your blondies twisted. I mean it seemed to me that you were having much more fun with the second woman.’ 

Eve stared at them dumbly. 

Peter jumped in, ‘It’s just that the way you were pressing yourself into the taller woman on the dancefloor left little to the imagination.’

‘That was the same girl.’ Eve said, as if trying to convince herself.

Her mind flashed back to that moment; the dexterity of the fingers sliding around her lower waist. The fullness of the woman’s chest against her back. Her sweet breath tickling her neck — the press of lips there. 

‘Peter, Gilles, tell me exactly what this woman looked like,’ she said, her tone dropping. The smiles fell from their faces. 

‘Oh God, you thought that you were with the same woman babe?’ Gilles said, eyeing her. ‘Clearly you haven’t been batting for this side for long.’ 

‘GILLES!’ 

‘Okay, okay. So last we saw, the first smaller girl scampered off god knows where, and this tall blonde woman - very Maria Sharapova looking if I do say so myself - came up behind you. And oh honey, what a steamy scene you two set off there! I mean—’

‘Gilles please,’ Eve interrupted, ‘were there any defining characteristics about her — could you make out her eye color or anything like that?’ 

Gilles seemed to sober up, catching Eve’s gaze. ‘God honey, we weren’t that close to you sorry.’ 

Peter spoke up. ‘I remember her. She was wearing this long black velvet robe — untied of course,’ he said smirking. ‘And she had the reddest rouge on her lips.’

Eve tried to control her breathing. 

‘I couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but they were light.’ 

She stood up abruptly, grabbing her monster bag.

‘Um, good seeing you then?’ Gilles remarked, mouth open. 

‘I’m so sorry you guys. It was really so great getting to know you — if I’m ever in Berlin again I will definitely give you a call!’ she said, already half-way out the door. 

She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Konstantin’s number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Carolyn would say, everything's 'coming to head' guys!
> 
> Chapter song inspiration of the week: Rabbit in Your Headlights by UNKLE 
> 
> Check out my Spotify to hear all the songs I get Villaneve inspiration from:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=M9BNBBiWRTeuBp2Sx2_AUQ


	7. Remain Nameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve connects with Konstantin who gives her the biggest lead yet.
> 
> Chapter song inspiration of the week: Remain Nameless by Florence and the Machine 
> 
> Check out my Spotify to hear all the songs I get Villaneve inspiration from:
> 
> Villanelle & Eve: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=M9BNBBiWRTeuBp2Sx2_AUQ  
> Eve Polastri: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=PvXZl86_QRKHKK1vbK98Qw  
> Villanelle: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/78zXad2iKxzXNSg0I9CuOy?si=YbuY3lZoQLG_tzAyDd4bPw

It only took about 30 calls until Konstantin answered the phone. In that time Eve had managed to check out of her hostel, board a cheap Ryanair flight, and land herself on the tube heading to Hackney. She thought the 31st time would be the charm. 

‘Hello, Eve.’ Konstantin’s thickly accented voice came through from the other end of the line. 

‘Konstantin! Of course now you choose the time to pick up. I’m on the tube — I may lose you. If this call disconnects ring me back.’ 

A churlish laugh crackled through the other end. 

‘Eve Polastri. I can’t say I’m surprised to hear from you.’ 

Eve cut right through the crap. ‘Konstantin listen, I think both of us know that Villanelle is not dead.’ 

Silence. 

‘Hello?? Did I lose you?’ 

‘Eve, what is it about her? Why can’t you just let it go?’ 

‘Please Konstantin, after all this time I think you know. You’re not stupid, after all.’ 

He sighed. ‘Listen Polastri, She was found dead outside a power house in Berlin. I saw her body with my own eyes. You saw the photographs. I don’t know what you are wanting from me,’ he said, his broken English coming through. 

‘Cut the bullshit, Konstantin. We both know that...she is still out there.’ 

Silence. This time the silence continued and Eve realized that the phone line had cut off. She let out an audible groan that wanted several dirty looks in her direction from the other commuters. 

Always the women unhinged. 

  
  


As she exited the tube, she was surprised to see an incoming call from an unknown number. Without hesitating, she answered. 

‘It’s me,’ came Konstantin’s thick voice. ‘Eve, I won’t discuss this with you, and I don’t have much time for talking with you now.’

Eve stopped mid step and leaned against the handrail, warrnating more annoyed glares. 

‘All I’m going to say is that I’m glad you got your old bag back.’ 

Eve stared at the tiled wall across from her considering this. 

‘I’m going to destroy this phone as soon as you hang up so don’t try to dial back.’ 

The call cut off abruptly. 

Eve eyes the beat up leather bag that hung from her shoulder like it held a ticking time bomb. Deciding to wait until she was in her own apartment before investigating inside, she walked like she had a pole up her arse the last kilometer home after she exited the tube station. 

As soon as she was inside the walkway to her apartment, she carefully slipped the bag off her shoulder and kneeled on the floor to inspect it. She gingerly dumped the contents out to find nothing unusual — scraps of gum, receipt of the metro in Berlin, her passport, chapstick, a flight ticket. 

There were no ambiguous lipsticks labeled ‘Love in an Elevator’ or half-bitten apples for her to apprehend. Disappointed, Eve fell back and slumped herself against her front door. 

She eyed the bag warily. Then she reached forward, and stuck her hand inside, groping the linen lining inside. It was only then that she felt a soft lump like item beneath the lining. Her blood running hot, she tore the interior lining, and felt around for the item she had felt. She stopped when she felt a silk like pouch. Retrieving it from the bag, she eyed it hungrily. 

It appeared to be a tiny jewelry pouch, no bigger than her pinky finger. It was deep forest green in color, and had a small drawstring bunched at the opening. She pulled the string apart and shook the contents out onto her walkways’ floorboards.

With a soft clunk, a brass colored key fell to the floor. She eyed it suspiciously. Prodding it with her finger to ensure it was safe, she then picked it up and regarded it. It was just a key — nothing out of the ordinary. 

Frustrated she dropped everything and headed to her kitchen to pop open another bottle of red. 

She poured herself a generous glass and then spent a minute glowering at the shitty view of the neighbor’s brick wall outside the kitchen window. The contents of her bag seemed to taunt her from the opposite end of the room.

It wasn’t long before she’d wandered back to her bag and was frantically rummaging through every crevice of it’s interior. Then she picked up the silk jewelry bag again. Something crinkled inside. 

Her fingers slipped inside to feel the length of what thought was a slip of paper. She pulled it out into the light. 

An address: _24 Gloucester Crescent, Camden Town NW1 7DL_

Without really taking the time to consider what awaited her at that address, Eve was on the move. If it led to any clues about Oksana’s true whereabouts, she was going. Danger or no danger. 

She grabbed her trusty old bag, and stuffed the key and address inside. By London’s standards, Camden Town wasn’t that far from Hackney - just a couple of changes on the tube and a short walk from the station would take her to Gloucester Crescent. 

As her train approached it’s last stop, Eve broke into a cold sweat. For the first time, she really considered the danger she was placing herself in. After all, she didn’t exactly trust Konstantin; he’d worn away Oksana’s trust. That should tell her enough. 

An elderly grey haired man clutching the tube pole asked her kindly, ‘You okay ma’am?’ 

‘Fine,’ she responded too quickly, making up for it with an ingenious ear to ear smile. That seemed to satisfy the old man enough. 

Well aware she could be stepping into a life threatening trap, Eve stepped outside the doors when her train car opened and walked briskly in the direction of the address, following Maps on her phone. 

She arrived on a winding, crescent shaped street, not far from the station. 

This was clearly an affluent area. Row after row of stately, narrow brick townhouses with white trim lined the winding street. She paused when she reached a deep green mailbox with the numbers 24 clinging to it in gold leaf trim. She pushed open the cast iron gate that was left unlocked and walked up the steps of the townhouse to the door, also painted in rich forest green hue. 

What the fuck am I doing here, she thought to herself. Trying to act ahead of her thoughts, she extracted the key from her bag and pushed it into the keyhole. 

Before she could turn the key, she felt the door open from the inside. 

And Oksana stood there, a slight smile teasing the corners of her mouth. 

‘Hi Eve.’

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, we all knew this was coming. Stay tuned for next chapter - I can assure you, it won't disappoint. 
> 
> Also, have we all seen that Jodie is filming again? Does that give us hope that KE S4 with resume soon? Me thinks not. :(
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter song inspiration of the week: Remain Nameless by Florence and the Machine 
> 
> Check out my Spotify to hear all the songs I get Villaneve inspiration from:
> 
> Villanelle & Eve: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=M9BNBBiWRTeuBp2Sx2_AUQ  
> Eve Polastri: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=PvXZl86_QRKHKK1vbK98Qw  
> Villanelle: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/78zXad2iKxzXNSg0I9CuOy?si=YbuY3lZoQLG_tzAyDd4bPw


	8. The Taste of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle reunite. 
> 
> Warning: this one's a tease...
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: The Tased of You by Ritual Howls
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw

Eve took a moment just to regard her face. 

Her lips curved upwards in her best shit-eating grin, but her eyes betrayed her guilt. Her bottom lip trembled, almost undetectably. Her face seemed paler than usual, a low tight bun exposing her face. 

In those first few seconds, the relief Eve felt was like nothing she’d ever experienced. 

It was as if someone had uncapped a high pressure valve in her chest, and the feelings she’d repressed for the past week sprung forward, unchecked. 

And then, it was like the bus all over again. 

Eve hurled herself at Villanelle where she stood, leaning against the doorframe with her hand annoyingly cocked on her hip. Villanelle’s eyes widened, but the smug smile never left her mouth. 

Hurling every one of her limbs in the assassin’s direction, she corralled her further into the room. Villanelle blocked every blow with practiced nimbleness. 

‘EVE, you know I had to do it!’ 

Eve responded to that with another screech, kicking her squarely in the thigh with a soft _thunk_. When she threw a punch to her face, Villanelle ducked, then caught her hand and pushed her into the wall of the room, pressing her body flush against hers. 

Her blonde hair, once tied into a neat bun, was now disarray around her face, forming a halo. 

Eve glared at her definiantly. ‘You let me believe you were dead.’ 

‘I had no other choice. What was I supposed to do? Tell the Twelve I was running off with a very sexy Asian woman with amazing hair. You’re smart, you know they wouldn’t keep me, Eve.’ 

Oksana’s eyes seemed to be dancing as she said the words, penetrating Eve’s own. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were glassy - she almost appeared drugged. 

‘You couldn’t have at least given me a sign you were still alive! Or I guess your penchant for leaving me subtle gifts behind never crossed your mind as a way of - I don’t know- letting me you were okay!?’ she said, her voice cracking toward the end of the sentence. 

Villanelle’s face softened. ‘Would you really care if I was dead, Eve?’ 

She said her name as if caressing it with her tongue; her hold on Eve relaxed slightly, giving Eve an advantage. She slipped out from under her where she was pinned to the wall. Villanelle’s grip tightened as she was doing so and they toppled to the floor, Eve landing squarely on top of her so that they were chest to chest. 

‘Of course I would, you _idiot_.’ 

The smug grin returned to Villanelle’s face. Eve rankled at that, grabbing her by the lapels of her deep navy blue blazer, teeth grimacing in anger as she peered down at her. 

Villelle’s eyes darkened, her grin relenting. ‘It was hard for me too, Eve.’ 

A moment of silence passed between them as they gazed at each other. 

She continued. ‘I did try to give you a sign. But your powers of detection really have gotten rusty -- I returned your old bag to you with my address the very day that Carolyn dropped the news.’ 

Eve was at loss for words. Although she was fuming with anger, she felt tears rising up, her chest cracking open as she regarded Oksana’s face again. Detecting the shift in emotion, Oksana reached a hand up and placed it softly on Eve’s thigh.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said simply, her eyes lighting up in what could only be described as bliss. Eve couldn’t help but smile herself, her eyes wet. ‘Well, to see you _again_. Having to follow you throughout Berlin was actually pretty nice,’ she said, the grin returning to her face. 

Eve’s eyes widened. Then the anger surged up again. ‘It _was_ you. You little sh---’ 

Her words were cut off as Oksana arched her neck up and pressed her lips against her own. Eve sank down into her to meet the kiss, Oksana’s head knocked gently on the floor. 

This kiss was different from the bus. In her fury, her eyes were open, like before, but now she let herself sink into Oksana’s embrace, her full lips soft and pliable against her own. 

After just a couple seconds, their faces parted and they breathed softly into each other's mouths. 

Villanelle looked frazzled -- a look Eve had never seen her wear before. Her eyes were clouded over and a slight crease formed between them as her eyes locked with Eve’s, processing the energy that passed between them. 

It was at that very moment that Eve realized that the emotion she felt for this woman could only be love. 

Not knowing what to do with this realization and still spiteful over the deceit, she said the opposite. 

‘I hate you.’ 

At that, Villanelle seemed to wake from her trance that the kiss had brought on. A flash of fear passed over her eyes, only to be replaced by her pompous look once again. 

‘Is that how you kiss the people you hate Eve?’ she half whispered. 

Not even aware she had made the decision, Eve bent down and kissed her again. 

Damn, how her body betrayed her. Villanelle’s mouth parted and they breathed their hot, sweet air together. A whimper escaped Villanelle’s mouth. 

The sounds cleared Eve’s mind for a half-second. Harnessing that window of opportunity, Eve tried to pull away but her fingers gripped the collar of her shirt so she inadvertently pulled Villanelle up to a sitting position with her. 

‘Let go of me, Villanelle.’ 

They wrestled awkwardly until Villanelle’s legs lay on either side of Eve’s hips where she now sat on the floor; she was now essentially sitting in Eve’s lap. 

Eve now found herself in a rather compromising position to execute her escape. She sat face to face with Villanelle, the assassin’s long legs wrapped around her waist, pinning her there. 

Eve had to keep her hands around her waist to steady herself from toppling backwards. 

Villanelle’s hands rested on her collarbone, forearms pressed against her chest. With a single thumb, she stroked Eve’s jawline. Eve was well aware of this transition of power, and for once, she didn’t feel the need to subvert her. Villanelle’s pupils were blown, her eyes almost black as she gazed down at eve from her slightly higher position in her lap. 

She leaned forward and whispered in Eve’s ear, ‘Hate me harder, Eve.’ 

Eve couldn’t help but let out a soft moan at the words. She bent her head forward and kissed her exposed neck, then bit down. Villanelle’s whole body shuddered, then angled her hips forward and grinded down onto her pelvis, eliciting a guttural, almost animalistic sound from Eve. 

Villanelle then wrapped her arms entirely around Eve’s neck, her face buried in her tangled hair. 

She curled her spine, and ground down again. Eve’s body reacting before her mind had time to catch up, she gripped the thighs that straddled either side of her, and slid her hand up toward the assassin’s torso.

Her fingers furtively continued under the hem of the silk shirt that lay beneath the heavy blazer. 

Villanelle’s breath, so close to her ear, became erratic. She didn’t stop. Her fingers continued upward, exploring the supple skin of her stomach, and upwards still until she felt the thin layer of her bra. Cupping the fullness at the bottom of her breasts, her fingers extended until they were touching the hard exterior of her nipples. She circled them tentatively. 

The body on top of her was trembling.

‘Is this all you want?’ Eve asked her.

No response. 

She pulled her face from Eve’s mane, and looked at her squarely, their faces inches apart. Eve forgot how to breathe again. 

‘I want _you_ , Eve,’ her voice came out shakily, her Russian accent heavy with want.

Then, her eyes cleared and she looked at Eve with an expression she'd never seen her wear before. She almost appeared level-headed, but there was pain in her eyes.

'But...but I can still walk away from this if that's what you need.' 

Eve gazed into her earnest honey colored eyes. She recounted the pain she’d inflicted on her, intentionally or not, over the past few days. For the hundredth time, she considered the way she’d let her destroy her own life. Eve took accountability for it now, but it didn’t mean that Villanelle hadn’t been the impetus behind it. A life with her was a life of chaos. 

If Eve had to base her decision off the way she felt right now, with Oksana pressed close to her, she knew she would never go back. 

She needed to clear her head.

‘Get off of me,’ she pleaded, this time without spite. 

Oksana regarded her carefully for a moment; she must have read the desperation in Eve’s face because she dislodged herself from Eve’s hips, stood and strode across the apartment toward the kitchen. 

Eve’s eyes traced the lines of her body -- the cat-like swagger to her gait; how could she have had any doubt it was her in the club that night, even from the back.

The rough bang of cabinets broke through her thoughts as she rummaged through the cabinets, slamming each one with unnecessary force. Eve could feel the disappointment rolling off of her in waves; the killer she knew two years ago would not have been able to walk away so easily. 

She pulled herself from the floor and walked out the door, the crestfallen look on Oksana’s face as she pushed herself away from her fluttering behind her eyelids. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that was short-lived, guys! I promise there is more where that came from. 
> 
> Song title inspiration of the week: The Tased of You by Ritual Howls
> 
> Link to my Villaneve playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12x9qjZ6ns6mpHaWnZOegZ?si=iQlre0SkS8yYZXrQ0lKiJw

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All! I'm an editor and novelist, but this happens to be my first go at fanfiction. The relationship between these two women has become my obsession, and, as most melancholic writers, I felt the only way to deal with all these emotions is to take it out on my keyboard. I hope it at least helps keep you satiated while we endure the long hiatus until S4! This will be a multi-chapter fic, stay tuned. ;) 
> 
> **As a writer, I thrive on feedback, so please do not withhold.


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